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Disappointments, small & large: Nautanki Saala & Shuddh Desi Romance.

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The more films I watch, the more I begin to understand that while there are always plenty of discussions to be had about various aspects of films, the one thing you can't really debate is the viewer's connection to characters. At times films click and succeed in establishing that connection - sometimes it's writing, sometimes it's acting, quite often it's everything coming together beautifully to make you care for the characters, and what happens to them.

Nautanki Saala, a romantic comedy based on a French film Apres vous (adapted with permission, I think), is one of those films where I do like all of the characters but I'm not fully engaged with their journey. Ayushmann Khurana plays Ram, a theater director who saves the life of a layabout Mandar Lele (Kunal Roy Kapoor) and is thus responsible for his life. He hires Mandar and attempts to secretly get back Mandar's former love, Nandini (Pooja Salvi). Things get complicated when Ram falls for her instead.

There are numerous things to like about this film. For one, it's very funny - a particular scene at a restaurant had me laughing until I couldn't breathe, and all the actors do a good job of heightening the comedy. Secondly, the parallels between to Ramayana-inspired play and the actual events was pretty fun. I liked the principal cast, and the film was never boring or tedious. Yet, perhaps there was some tiny bit of chemistry missing in the love story, or maybe the complicated premise robbed that part of the film a bit of its romance, or maybe I was just in an odd mood that day. It's hard to tell sometimes. The bottom line is, I liked the movie, but not as much as I was hoping to. It's making me doubt my initial fondness for Ayushmann, to be perfectly honest - if I liked, but didn't love Vicky Donor, and now I'm getting largely the same reaction to his next movie, maybe he's not yet that good a performer. 


Shuddh Desi Romance delivers precisely nothing that the name implies, which I don't fault it for. I don't need my romances to be chaste, or particularly traditional. Sadly, what the film is also missing is good characterisation. It starts out fast, and introduces its main characters Raghuram (Sushant Singh Rajput) and Gayatri (Parineeti Chopra) quickly as well. They're on their way to a wedding - his - and she's one of the hired guests. He's having doubts, as the marriage is arranged, they talk on the bus, she smokes a cigarette, they kiss. Later, after he's escaped his wedding by literally running away, she seeks him out.

Things move so fast that by the time, about 30 minutes into the movie, when the couple is already running into their first signs of trouble, I began to wonder whether I cared all that much. I sort of knew them as characters, I suppose, but there was never enough establishing them, or their feelings for one another, as to help me have that connection that is so crucial in a film like this. Later this troubled twosome is joined by newcomer Vaani Kapoor's character Tara, seen earlier almost marrying Raghuram, and I had to ask myself, "What the hell is this movie trying to go for?".

Admittedly, it's not easy to write believable young people who are confused about what society wants out of them, and what they themselves want. But some of the vulnerabilities and complications in these characters seem so manufactured and nonsensical. They love each other but they don't want to commit, because one of them says that the other one could never commit seriously and the other one takes offence at that. It got to the point where I just felt all these arguments and endless rapidfire dialogues were pointless - if there were layers to be found, I couldn't make any sense of them. Was something just lost in translation? Or was I tuning out because I just didn't care?

I feel bad because this film got so many things right - I enjoy Parineeti Chopra's performances, and she had a relaxed chemistry with Sushant Singh Rajput. Vaani Kapoor was not bad for a debutante actress, and her smile gave a strong impression that her character was always two steps ahead of everybody else. (Interestingly enough, she'll be the lead in the Tamil/Telugu remake of Band Baaja Baarat, alongside Nani.) The music was cheery and quite fun. The cinematography was stunning, and made me want to visit Jaipur. But that connection, that investment to these characters and what happens to them, just wasn't there.

A bit of self-reflection & Satyajit Ray's Devi.

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Previously, when I have written about my ambivalence towards art house or parallel films in India (and elsewhere), I may have come down too hard on both myself as a viewer, who gets too easily bored and the stereotypical concept of these types of films as boring and incomprehensible. I think this kind of narrative is so tired and rather poisonous, and I'm kicking myself for ever furthering it on this blog. The fact is, most of my reactions to movies, such as Satyajit Ray's filmography, come down to two factors: my own bias against watching 'classics' just because they are considered by some as classics, and my lack of orientation towards watching these sorts of films. (And yes, this will be one of those slightly tiresome blog posts where I ponder why I react to things the way I do, as opposed to just telling you about my reactions. Apologies all around.)

I've always had this perhaps slightly ludicrous aversion to watching or reading anything that is a classic simply because it's received such a label. I don't believe in entertainment as education, unless there is a legitimate educational purpose to consuming a piece of entertainment (like the fact you're researching something, or a legitimate student of something, such as literature or art or film). I'll watch films considered classic, if and when I want to watch them - when I'm motivated to see what they're about, as opposed to composing a body of works as educational homework for myself. Some will tell you that you absolutely need to see certain films in order to discuss films at all, but I'm not really one of those people. I'll encourage curiosity in others, and in myself, because curiosity towards new things can only lead to great new discoveries and fun.

Some people obviously have a different take on this, and would probably argue that classics are considered classics because they are generally good and important works of art. I'm not denying any of this, as most of my favourite films could easily be considered classics in some form or another. It's just that this is my philosophy when it comes to art, and canonized art. We should recommend things to people because they might enjoy them, not because some sort of consensus has formed that something is important.

As far as my lack of orientation is concerned, that's where Devi and the previous Ray film I watched, Charulata, come in. They both seem to work in a format where themes and ideas slowly build up over the movie, only to reach a spectacular height of dramatic tension in the last ten or fifteen minutes of the film. This sort of cadence is not necessarily unique, but it differs from the films I typically watch. It's not that I don't enjoy it - it's just I'm not used to seeing it.

When I woke up on a Sunday morning and had this sudden idea of watching Devi alongside my many morning cups of coffee, I knew this was precisely why I had this philosophy about classics and art. As the mood struck me, the setting for the film was perfection - and the clear-headed, caffeinated emotional devastation that I felt at the end of the movie, was perfect, too. I watched the characters live in their world, commit their honest mistakes and become trapped in the societal conventions they couldn't struggle out of, because sometimes that is simply how things work.

Devi is, of course, a tale of a Bengali household where the father-in-law (Chhabi Biswas) of Dayamoyee (Sharmila Tagore) sees a premonition in a dream that Dayamoyee is a reincarnation of the goddess Kali. Umaprasad (Soumitra Chatterjee), her husband, is away completing his studies, and he returns to find his wife, living at the temple, worshipped as a goddess.

It's a concise film with excellent mood, tremendously interesting performances - particularly Sharmila - and beautiful cinematography, but I'm still far too focused on the ending, which is a complete punch to the gut, in a good way. It's satisfying in its tragedy, but if I'm completely honest with myself, the journey towards that ending was not as gripping as I might've hoped. What do I do with a film that I only really enjoyed during the last ten minutes? Rewatch it, I suppose, to take in all of those hints of what was coming, before I knew where it was all headed. Much as I did with Charulata, I certainly liked this film, but it didn't work its way into my heart as a favourite. And much as with Charulata, the review of the film turned out to be rather navel-gazing. Further apologies?

A month in India, part 1: Introduction.

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I always knew India was a country one would enter and have all of their senses overwhelmed at once. Especially coming from a sparsely populated, cold northern country such as Finland, I was prepared for some sensory shock, a bit of culture shock and more. I also knew that even if there was a laundry list of inconveniences and things I couldn't wrap my head around about India, I'd probably fall in love. You can't spend a decade reading and learning and thinking about a country, and then visit and be completely disillusioned. It just doesn't happen. And thus, rather predictably, I did fall in love - with the overwhelming India, the actual India, at once so similar to the hundreds of filmed Indias I'd seen and yet completely different.

So understandably, India was a lot to take in, even for a fairly seasoned traveler such as myself. One acclimates, though, and during the month I spent there, urban India - be it Kolkata, Mumbai or Chennai - became a sphere I could actually navigate pretty successfully. For a while I could even imagine myself living there. As I went with a friend, who was a fellow Indian film fan, despite having grown distant from the films (due to lack of time and occasionally, lack of interest), we followed the path of our mutual interests; no stalking of film stars, but plenty of tracking down CD and DVD shops, seeing a film in each city we visited, sometimes two, and turning on the TV channel that played the latest hits when we went back to the hotel to relax. We also read a lot, ate a lot, walked a lot, saw sights - when you spend that long a time anywhere, there's no way your time is taken up by just one thing. But since this is a film blog, I'll focus on the films.

In the coming days I'll review the movies I saw there, and hopefully in the year that follows I'll get around to watching and discussing all the films I bought on DVD or VCD while in India. I say a year because I bought around 20 films and knowing myself, how bad I am at arranging time to watch anything, it'll probably take me a year. And maybe one day I'll actually get around to also doing my Filmi Year 2013 post.  Maybe.

Happy 2014, everybody!

A month in India, part 2: R... Rajkumar.

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Prabhudeva began his directorial career with the spry revitalisation of the Maine Pyar Kiya plot in the Telugu favourite Nuvvostenante Nenoddantana, and continued his directorial exploits in the South, before smashing onto the Hindi scene with Wanted, a Southie remake, but a badass one at that. I was a fan from the get-go, liking his visual, bombastic masala style, alongside the amazing choreography that his films always seemed to have. To pair him up with Shahid Kapoor, an excellent leg shaker in his own right, and add a bit of roughness to him in the action masala format - this all seemed like the recipe of a great movie.

R.. Rajkumar has a story that is almost so forgettable that I've actually forgotten the details, aside from the barebones plot structure - Shahid plays a hoodlum who joins forces with gratuitously shirtless villain Sonu Sood, mostly for monetary reasons. Things get tricky when Sonu Sood takes an interest in the daughter of the corrupt politician he's in cahoots with, who just happens to be the same girl (played by hapless, why-am-I-stuck-in-these-roles Sonakshi Sinha) Shahid's character has been relentlessly harassing for most of the movie. What's going to happen? Spoilers: the poster kind of says it all.

I suppose I should really thank the movie for spinning such a simplistic tale, as it made it very easy to follow with my beginner's Hindi skills in the cool southern Mumbai multiplex I saw this film at. Sonu Sood was great as ever, and the songs were the soundtrack to the rest of my trip, but the positives kind of run out there. What bothered me the most was the absolutely relentless, inexcusable sexual harassment by the main character, portrayed as romantic. You could say this has become an Indian film trope, and especially following the movement to make India safer for women, this trope has been called out - films may just be films, but the women on India's streets who suffer sexual harassment every day of their lives do know the effect that portraying this trope as romantic has on society. It's been a while since I've seen such a blatant example of "eve-teasing" disguised as a romantic subplot. There isn't even the slightest hint of Sonakshi's Chanda liking the main character, and he invades her personal space, doesn't take "no" for an answer, and it's just so, so off-putting.

It's also just completely unnecessary. Why can't she like this guy from the get go? Why can't they have meet-cute and then begin a bickering chemistry, which would largely serve the same function, but take away the icky issues with consent (she said no, so back off, buddy)? You could still have the songs, the arguments, even the slap scene that seems so pivotal, going by the times it's referenced back to.

I hate to turn my back on a guy I once listed as one of my top five directors, alongside such favourites as Manmohan Desai and Shankar, but I'm afraid it's come to this. I barely remember watching Rowdy Rathore, even though I know I did. This one didn't fare much better, though I still enjoy the soundtrack (and Ghandi baat is a song that will always be on my "India trip" playlist). If he insists on spicing his original films with these sorts of off-putting, regressive tropes, I'm just not interested - I like my action masala, but I also like a modicum of respect from the hero towards the heroine. This isn't a tall ask. It really isn't.

A month in India, part 3: DDLJ at Maratha Mandir.

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Watching one of my favourite films in the one theatre that had never stopped showing it seemed like a life goal I would in all likelihood never get to complete; fate would work its curious ways and me and my friend wouldn't find the theater, or go on the wrong day, or at the wrong time, or the showing would be sold out, or something would come between us and this piece of Indian film history. And yet, despite all my worries, things actually worked out. On an early December Monday afternoon, I sat down into a comfortable balcony seat, having paid the amazingly low price of 20 rupees, and got ready to watch Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge at the fabled Maratha Mandir, Mumbai, during the 947th week of its run.

Of course, before that, me and my friend walked half a kilometre in the wrong direction, then stood mistakenly in the Dhoom 3 advance booking line for about 10 minutes, were relentlessly stared at by the fellow matinee movie-goers, for our goriness and our femaleness, chatted to some young mothers who'd brought their kids to see the film, trundled into the movie theater (though not before I'd irritably told one dude a piece of my mind in Finnish) and were seated by an usher who ruled the balcony like a dictator (and later moved us, seemingly for no reason). Then we stood up and listened to the Indian national anthem, glancing in every direction to see of other people were actually singing it, but nobody seemed to, at least not loudly enough to note.

To me, this was a familiar movie - indeed, one of the most familiar ones. I couldn't quite quote it from memory, but the dialogues, the scenes, the characters, the songs were all ones I had watched a dozen times or more. This was a film that I had rewatched throughout the decade I've been exploring Indian cinema, each time learning something new, each time understanding the Hindi and the cultural references in it a bit better. There wasn't a way to watch it with new eyes, even in this amazing new context, the legendary Maratha Mandir.

And yet, it was a completely new experience. To watch it on my own and chuckle at Shahrukh's Raj, still my absolute favourite character that the man has ever played, is not quite the same as having a whole audience appreciate his silly witticisms on the first half, or the jokes on the second half. There were some surprising elements to the crowd's engagement with the movie, as well. The way that Anupam Kher's flirtatious storyline with one of Simran's aunts brought the whole house down was definitely a surprise to me. The last two songs descended on the audience like manna from the heavens. It was a good time, observing these reactions, sharing them and just appreciating getting this experience.

For the most part, though, this was the same movie I'd fallen in love with when seeing it for the first time, and the movie I still fiercely adored. I know it's not the perfect movie, and on an intellectual level I can completely understand all the various reasons why others find it over-rated or cheesy or just plain unlikable. And yet, myself, I can't see any of those things when I watch it. DDLJ is a favourite, in a way where it doesn't matter whether it's a classic or not, even though it's nice to have one's love for a film shared by others.

Even if you don't love DDLJ, if you are ever in Mumbai and have a free afternoon, make the journey to go see this film in this particular context. It's a beautiful, old theater, the tickets are very cheap, and it's an experience that is truly a must for any fan of Indian films.

A month in India, part 4: Dhoom 3 on Dhoom Day, Kolkata.

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If Indian film promotion is a hurricane, then the first 10 days of our time in India were spent in the eye of the storm known as Dhoom 3. This was not a thing you could avoid, from Kolkata's metro platforms to the road crossing near our hotel, where a bowler hat-wearing Aamir Khan gazed over us. Promos on TV, posters on walls, advertisements on our morning papers - we saw it all.

And yet, we didn't mind one bit. This was the craze we'd signed up for - this was the movie that would be descending on India, and we knew precisely what we were in for. We smiled at every piece of gross, over-exposed piece of promotion we ran into, I worried over one restaurant supper whether we'd make it in time to catch Aamir's Koffee with Karan episode in the hotel room (which I got to watch and it was a blast). There probably should've been a moment where one went, "Okay, enough with this Dhoom 3 already!" and yet there kind of never was? We ate it up, eagerly.

In an ironic twist, perhaps, we watched the megalomaniac Bollywood big budget blockbuster in the city of art cinema, Kolkata, at a southern Kolkata multiplex called London Paris ("Just like home, eh?" I asked my Londoner friend). The tickets were the most expensive movie tickets we'd ever bought in India, 350 rupees each, but the seats reclined nicely, the atmosphere was excellent, and this was the opening Friday night, so one could expect to pay a premium (and compared to Finnish movie ticket prices, this was peanuts).


So what about the actual film itself? The glorious sequel to the maddest madcap action film series the world has ever seen? (And yes, the Fast and the Furious films are quite madcap as well, but they never had Vin Diesel dressing up as the Queen of England, so I think Dhoom still wins over its original inspiration.) Well, this was, in many ways, a very loyal sequel to the previous two. The villain still gets center stage, and any badassery and action sequences that Jai and Ali (Abhishek Bachchan and Uday Chopra, respectively) receive is almost like a pity hand-out, because it's not quite a Dhoom movie without them, and yet you get the sense that both of the sequels have kind of wished they could let these two characters go already. The women are still ludicrously under-written or just plain ludicrous, and mostly there to show off some skin, and dance in some songs. The action is reaching new heights, or new laws of physics.

And yet Dhoom 3 is different. It contains an emotional heart that doesn't quite sit with everything that's been wrapped around it - the formula, that is. It has a central performance that simultaneously makes you gasp in awe and then squirm in discomfort. It was a love story that is criminally (pun intended) underwritten and yet quite sweet. It falls somewhat short on the chemistry between Jai and the villain, which was largely the tentpole that held up the previous two films, but it's still good - replacing this is a chemistry between, well, two other leads.

The soundtrack is a winner from top to bottom, at least in my books. The tap dance spin on the Dhoom Machale number seems gimmicky but sounds and looks legitimately awesome, the circus picturization of Malang is just stunning, and Tu Hi Junoon is a winner all the way. Of course, my love for these songs is peppered by the nostalgia of hearing them during the trip, seeing all of those promos pop up here and there, plus the fact that these are absolutely amazing picturizations to be watched on the big screen.


Dhoom films will always defy logic and be considered as bad by some as they are considered amazing by others. As much as I try to rate these films in a sphere of their own, not to be compared or contrasted against any other films but each other, I can't help but feel that what I told my friend, walking to a Bengali restaurant after the movie, is very true: "This was the most amazing bad movie I have ever seen. Loved it. Will hear nothing bad against it." And yet something bad is precisely what I'm about to voice about it.

Even in the conventional masala madcap forgiveness, one has to forgive Dhoom 3 for a lot of things. Its attempts at being so so cool undercut its desire to be a legitimately good movie with an emotional core. The way it ignores Katrina Kaif's character for most of the movie, barely giving her any lines, barely ever giving her an actual characterisation, only hampers the story as a whole. While Ali's Mumbaiyya lines brought some people in the audience to tears with laughter, many others in the audience, including myself, remained stoic and didn't bite. As slick as it is, as wild as it is, as good (and as bad) as Aamir Khan's performance is, the fact remains it just isn't as good as it could be.

And yet, it's absolutely fantastic, without a doubt my favourite of the film series, and the sole Dhoom film I'll be glad to own on DVD. You should probably see it, for many a reason, and expect nothing, and expect everything, and know that when back in the day some of us theorised about what kind of a Dhoom film they'd have to make to convince Aamir Khan to join it, we didn't quite know it would be this epic a result.

A month in India, part 5: Aschorjo Prodip, or a Bengali Aladdin.

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"Do you know the language?" a mature woman clad in a beautiful sari, sat next to me in the Ballygunge film theater, asked in polite English.

"No," I replied sheepishly. "We just wanted to see a Bengali film, my friend and I, and we thought this would be a good one."

Later on, I asked her, "Has it gotten good reviews?"

"Yes," she told me. "It is critically acclaimed."

I didn't tell her it was merely the quirky soundtrack and the worry over the other Bengali film in theaters being racist that lead us to watch Aschorjo Prodip (Astonishing lamp). Then there was the familiarity with the inspiration: we certainly knew the tale of Aladdin, so this modern take on the tale shouldn't be too hard to follow, even as we missed out on all the comedy of the dialogues and the subtleties of the story.

In fact, there seemed to be so much subtle humour to this film that I almost feel as if I shouldn't talk about it, having seen it without subtitles. The lead character, an unhappy middle-aged worker bee (Saswata Chatterjee, who played Bob Biswas in Kahaani) discovers a lamp and through the genie within it (played by Rajatabha Dutta), gains materialistic success - suddenly anything one could want in a consumerist society is at his finger tips. Yet, of course, the film is critical of this, but in ways that probably were more subtle than the mere visual storytelling let us know.

It also doesn't help that this main character, a victim of consumerist thinking, is not the most sympathetic. He seems hapless, with a dry sense of humour, but he's also got a pretty gross edge; the scenes with him lusting after a film starlet were none too fun to sit through. I just didn't find myself caring that much about what happened to this guy, whether his life would take a turn for the better or for worse. In fact, my mind would drift off and I'd shake myself out of thinking about Bengali food, and whether I should've had more momos as a snack prior to us watching the film.

With that said, it was interesting to watch this movie and then see the Kolkata around us - the Lion's Park next to Rabindra Sarovar, a lake-side park where a part of the ending was actually filmed. I suppose I'll have to rewatch this with subtitles to decide what my final take on it was. The quirky soundtrack was indeed quirky, but not very memorable, and almost a little too much, blasted through the speakers at full volume within the movie theater.

A month in India, part 6: Biriyani.

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It's quite rare that a film that takes inspiration from another film actually references the film it was inspired by, so I was surprised to see Biriyani actually have its characters watch a few scenes of The Hangover, while at a party. Best friends Sugan (Karthi) and Parasuram (Premgi Amaren) wake up one morning, with a hangover, and only flashes of memories about the events that took place after they ran into a beautiful lady while getting late night biriyani. Turns out, during the course of the evening, they've become inadvertently involved in something big, and now they have to run from the authorities, all while trying to figure out precisely what happened during the evening, and who's at fault.

Of course, before any of this unfolds, we have to sit through scenes of their friendship and dynamic, in which Sugan is in incorrigible womanizing asshole, despite having a beautiful, sweet girlfriend in Priyanka (Hansika Motwani), who Parasuram also likes quite a bit. Parasuram is, in a word, a total loser, and Sugan is the go-getter, aided by his good looks and easy nature at every turn. They're not the most lovable bunch, and even though there is some comedy in their antics together, these are not characters you necessarily root for in such a way that when the plot turns serious and full of conspiracy theories, you actually care about what happens to them. Character development is slim.

The saving grace of the film is probably the catchy soundtrack - Ilayaraja's 200th, in fact. But otherwise, the list of flaws is a mile long, despite the fact that when I was watching, I wasn't too bothered by them. In retrospect, though, the film starts out merely okay and gets messier and messier towards the end. The final frame of the film makes absolutely no goddamn sense, even when I poked my movie companion and Twitter friend Bala, a native Tamizhan, to explain things to me.

Later on, during my brief time in Chennai, I enjoyed both an intense hangover and a meal of biriyani, and enjoyed the latter almost as much as I did not enjoy the former. All's well ends well, I suppose.

A month in India, part 7: Sholay 3D.

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As luck would have it, on the last leg of my trip to India, I'd fall ill. Illness when traveling is an absolute curse - I was too nauseous to eat, to shop, to even move, and so I spent the last days of my time in India, in the gorgeous and interesting city of Madurai, cooped up in the hotel room, watching Koffee with Karan episodes and reading bad Indian English fiction (I'll have a post later on about the books I read in India).

A blessing in disguise was my 12 hour layover in the city of Mumbai. I hadn't seen a film in what felt like ages, since I hadn't really found any theaters during my time in Madurai, and thus I hadn't had the chance to catch Sholay's re-release in 3D. I'd read a bit about the legal weirdness surrounding the release, but in many ways I didn't really care - this was such an amazing opportunity to watch a favourite film of mine in a whole new way, I couldn't pass it up. 

So thanks to the help of an Indian friend with google fu and a patient taxi driver, I got to watch Sholay 3D at a comfortable multiplex in Juhu, Mumbai, in a surprisingly filled theater, considering it was an early Wednesday evening. And if my hasty movie snack of samosas and Pepsi wasn't good enough to begin with, this was an absolutely joyous film experience in every way.

The 3D release had added those gimmicky bits of things flying at the camera that send a jolt of surprise through each audience member. It was a funny collective experience. When Thakur shoots the cuffs off Jai and Veeru, the audience collectively gasped, then chuckled at our reactions. Silly 3D gimmicks, we knew the bullet wouldn't really fly at us. And yet, for a short moment, we did.

The picture looked crisp, but as ever, the real triumph of the film was not the picture quality, or even the sound mix (which had some things added, some things sharpened, but also made the soundtrack sound strange, almost like the vocals had been undercut in some way), but the story, the performances and the dialogues. The guys next to me were quoting lines about 5 seconds before spoken by the characters on the screen - at times, they'd misquote, and tut at themselves, when the line they thought they remembered was not precisely as they'd remembered it.

What I enjoyed perhaps most was the comedy, because Sholay is a very funny film, almost from top to bottom. From Asrani's goofy jailer, to Veeru's drunken antics, to the legendary scene between Jai and Mausi (one of Amitabh's best, understated comedic moments), I was laughing alongside the rest of the audience. Basanti also floored people, with her haan haan, maine kab mana kiya's. I speak of course as a huge fan of the movie, starting from the first time I ever saw it, but with this watch, there is no doubt in my mind why it's also such a classic movie - people love it to bits. They revel in every moment of the stupendously long running time. And to get to see this movie with such an appreciative audience, in such a crisp form - well, I can't say I've ever had such a memorable film experience. I was smiling throughout my arduous airport experience that came after the movie, simply remembering what an excellent experience I'd had.

And truly, what more could you possibly want out of a movie?

(Sidenote: in Chennai, I found coasters with Sholay quotes on them, but didn't buy them. "Yeh coffee mujhse dede Thakur!" still makes me chuckle, though.)

A month in India, part 8: Readings in fiction and non-fiction.

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Battle for Bittora, The Zoya Factor, Those Pricey Thakur Girls by Anuja Chauhan 

Two of these books have had their film rights purchased by major Mumbai studios, Shahrukh's Red Chillies bought the Zoya Factor's rights and Battle for Bittora's rights were bought by Saregama. I'm sure that Thakur Girls will be made into a movie, too, if any studio is willing to tackle the 1980's Delhi milieu in a serious manner. It's hard to say whether any of these three frothy, enjoyable chicklit novels will make good movies, but what I do know is they make absolutely fantastic reading, and hence they top my list of recommendations.


Chauhan's writing is effortless and her characters, flawed and funny, jump off the page. Her heroines are just so likable, her heroes completely swoonworthy, and the way she masterfully weaves real life issues, be it communal troubles or corruption scandals, into her otherwise fluffy plots is really commendable. One of the covers for her novels featured the quote, "The only popular Indian fiction worth reading" and while I don't know much about Indian fiction as  a whole (only that it is a wonderful world I've not explored nearly enough, because it's not too available to those of us outside India), I have to encourage everybody with a hankering for a good, dreamy romance to seek Anuja Chauhan's books out.

Battle For Bittora was my first - scathing, clever political satire amidst absolutely adorable romance between two childhood sweethearts. If the combination sounds weird and unworkable, just trust me on this and check it out. The Zoya Factor is a tale of a young woman who inadvertently becomes the good luck charm of the Indian national cricket team, much to the team captain's chagrin. Those Pricey Thakur Girls portrays a dysfunctional family in India of Doordarshan and the pre-liberalised economy, and even though this too contains a fantastic romantic tale, what made me fall in love was the consistent portrayal of these very real-seeming characters, and the wide cast of them. Thakur Girls is getting a modern day sequel, taking a few of the characters and telling their story 15-20 years after the first novel took place, and I can't wait to read it.

Revolution 2020 by Chetan Bhagat

The author of the novels that 3 Idiots and Kai Po Che were based on suffers from a curious affliction - his best-selling novels aren't actually very good literary works, but get churned into pretty damn decent movies (okay, Hello aside). He portrays a modern India in very simplistic ways, but truthfully, in that "ripped from headlines" type of manner that a lot of things that are heavily inspired by reality can feel truthful.


Revolution 2020 I bought because I couldn't find an Anuja Chauhan novel to buy. It's a tale of three friends, two boys and a girl, their achievements, their lack of achievement, and the weird turns of life that drive them away and then drive them back together. The central schism of the novel is that Gopal, our narrator, is basically an immoral asshole, jealous to a flaw, morally corrupt and just unpleasant to read about. Our heroine and the girl he's madly in love with, Aarti, is portrayed merely through him, as the beautiful (oh and she is so beautiful!) mystery to him, because, as the character makes sure to emphasise so many times) girls are such confusing creatures! This type of gender essentialism and prejudice is precisely what turned me off the character, even before he turned into a wildly corrupt human being. The third friend, is a vaguely good human being, but again, through Gopal's lense, and Bhagat's lazy writing, we don't actually get to learn much about him, apart from a few disjointed characteristics.

Bhagat writes for an audience I'm probably not a part of; those who've learnt English as a second language and are only now easing into reading English. His English is simple and easy-to-read but absolutely lifeless as prose; the man used to be an investment banker, and indeed he writes like one who reads numbers all day, not poetry. He spells out how things are, rather than implying them through his narration of events. There are no hints or implications to be found or between-the-lines discoveries for the reader to make: everything is spelled out to a ridiculous degree. I have no doubt this novel will make a good film, at the hands of the right film maker, who can play with Gopal's immorality and give him shades to actually make the character interesting, and with the right cast, who can breathe life and subtleties into these stereotypical characters. I look forward to watching that movie, even as I won't be touching this book again.

The Krishna Key by Ashwin Sanghi

This was one of the novels I burned through when ill. I sort of resigned to my fate - I'd only found one book store in Madurai that sold any decent amount of English novels, and I needed something to read to kill time between the countless naps and Indian cable channels only increased my boredom, so reading was really the way to go. I knew this very Indian spin on the Da Vinci Code (oh, you couldn't tell?) would be trash, but I just needed something to read.

The backcover text actually makes this sound like quite a fun ride - a serial killer in the modern world thinks of himself as the last incarnation of Krishna. He starts killing the friends of a middle aged historian (who's got film star good looks, because the author is very obviously aiming for a film version of this starring one of the big Khans, or at least Hrithik or something), and implicating him in the murders. This launches a wild chase in which he tries to track down the "Krishna key" while being chased by the police, and the serial killer himself. However will this end?

As much as you could argue this is just fiction, there is something about the fervent way the author writes exposition into the mouth of his main character that makes me think he actually believes all this stuff. The conspiracy theories surrounding this one you might have heard - there is this theory going around, prodded up by certain political ideologies in India - that basically states everything and anything ever has its roots in Vedic Hindu culture, language and religion. Be it scientific discoveries, whole foreign languages or concepts, they all date back to this on starting point. Real life historians, linguists and archeologists probably regard these claims with the utmost skepticism but that doesn't stop the conspiracy theorists.

There are a few twists to keep the plot interesting but all in all, the whole thing falls apart when none of the characters are actually likable and all of their interactions are exposition of the conspiracy theories the author has read about on the web. The closer we got to the ending, the less I actually cared about what happened to these people.

The Cosmic Clues by Manjiri Prabhu

 This detective novel features a young woman who starts up her own detective agency, and unravels mysteries using her wit - and Hindu astrology. The admittedly silly idea would probably genuinely work, if the author would have learned that readers generally like to read about characters who aren't portrayed as flawless and perfect. Everybody in this book, from her continuously starstruck assistant, to the international criminal she tries to track down, seems so enamoured with the main character, I started to doubt her wonderfulness about 10 pages in. The problem is that nobody else does - she's smart, she's capable, she's witty and funny and charming and thus absolutely boring to read about. Her virtues are touted on every page, by every character, she's admired and fawned over, she figures everything out without any significant problems and has a persistently positive outlook on everything, from her home city of Pune to every damn food item she chows down. Every case she goes through in this book is solved without any major mishaps. Her family life is all good and nothing seems to trouble her for more than 2 seconds. 


And it is so goddamn annoying I almost couldn't finish this book, even though I eventually did, and rather liked the twist it took towards the end, which tied the book together quite well.

Apparently this too was bought by a film production company ..the one that made Marigold and Ragini MMS. Uhh. Well, if I can end my pessimist review on a positive note, I suppose I could say that these kinds of characterisations do actually work better in films - films can be exaggerated and silly, whereas I feel like books need characters to have edges and grit to them, in order to be interesting. Good luck?

Amar Akbar Anthony: Masala, Madness and Manmohan Desai by Sidharth Bhatia

 This was a slim non-fiction book about the mogul of madcap masala, Manmohan Desai, and more importantly his masterpiece film, Amar Akbar Anthony. It wasn't a very long read, but it was incredibly informative, detailing what made Desai such a unique film maker, and also what made his latter era films less stellar than his late 70's ones. It's an honest look at the man who made films for the common man, who knew his roots and lived by them, and all the logical considerations that went into piecing together this illogical masterpiece. For example, one thing I had no idea about was the fact that this film, Parvarish, Chacha Bhatija and Dharam-Veer were all filmed simultaneously. 1977 was an amazing year for Manmohan Desai, no doubt.


This was released in a book series detailing a bunch of other films as well. I didn't pick up any of the other ones, though now I wish I had - I would have loved to buy the sturdy paperback on Gangs of Wasseypur. 

A month in India, part 9: Film-related pictures.

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A sign for film work in Mumbai.

Last frames of DDLJ at Maratha Mandir.

B or C movie theater in Mumbai. I think. 

A common sight in India: political posters and film posters side-by-side.

Vijaykanth, a movie star-cum-politician welcoming people in the cheesiest poster I have ever seen.

...okay.

Vikram selling loans .. I think? This was the only ad with the man I ran into, so either he's not as popular as in my apartment, or he's discerning about advertisements.

Movie placards at the Bollywood disco section of the New Year's Eve party we went to in Chennai.

Movie posters in Madurai, including a re-release of an old MGR movie. His face you couldn't walk a mile in urban Tamil Nadu without seeing.

Arundhati - a woman and her dagger.

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It is so rare to see an actress at the centre of a Telugu masala film, that when I spotted the Malayalam dubbed DVD of Arundhati, a 2009 Telugu supernatural thriller, I knew instantly that I had to buy it. The cast also intrigued me - Anushka Shetty, who is typically a solid performer, was at the helm and Sonu Sood, my favourite scumbag in both North and South Indian cinemas, played the horrifying villain she has to conquer. The plot tells of a woman being reborn in modern day to conquer the evil that once plagued her court.

I didn't have subtitles for this movie, so all of its subtleties, or lack thereof, escaped my understanding. What I could gather was the gist of the plot and the performances, which are all solid. The CGI was probably never amazing to begin with, so it looks a bit dated now, but serves its purpose, as this tale of black magic and all kinds of sorcery wouldn't really be told without the help of computer-generated special effects.


I wish I had had subtitles, though, because I feel like regardless of quality, this film would've been more interesting. What I gather is that it's an okay film, not a spectacularly good one - it has all the tropes of this type of film, from the revenge angle to the ludicrous horrifying lengths Sonu Sood's villain reaches. It's not quite Magadheera levels of fun, partly because it's so serious and has almost nothing in it to truly lighten the mood (even the songs never really make it fun). Some scenes are almost too dark, lending it a bit of a horror film feel, which may be entirely intentional. There is also one film shamelessly copied from a well-known Chinese film from the early 2000s.

It is so rare to see a female-lead film in this manner, though. There is no hero here - Anushka's two characters are the focus, and even though she gets some help from men, there isn't a single moment where it looks like the focus might shift towards somebody else. It's refreshing, but at the same time it's not as revolutionary as one might hope. There is no part in which the traditional gender roles are necessarily questioned - the heroine is given agency but she's kind of portrayed as the exception, not the rule. A devil's advocate might ask whether that's so different from how heroes are portrayed, too, though, and I suppose that's true.

Perhaps more telling is the fact that even if this was a pretty decent hit in the box office, I've not really seen it mentioned much. I suppose that could just be a sign of its reputation, because like I said, even without subtitles, I didn't get the sense I was missing out on nuanced storytelling, or even intriguing supernatural world-building. As it stands, I might recommend it to those who like the leads and don't mind dated-looking CGI combined with stern supernatural stories. 

The Lunchbox and the argument for self-reflection.

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The pointlessness of consumption starts to hit home when the DVDs you've hauled from half-way across the globe gather dust as you're so preoccupied with life and other interests that you've got. Believe you me, I don't mean to abandon Indian movies without much warning every 18 months or so - it just happens. And then I rush back in, flushed with new-found excitement. The love is always there, in a way, even when the blog is dead and the DVD player abandoned. I just get so tired, tired with the mediocrity, tired with the dullness of the Bengali art picture I'm forcing myself to sit through just because, tired of waiting for DVDs to come out, tired of the vapid jokes made on Koffee with Karan. So I leave, and then I come back.

I should have, of course, returned much earlier, as the brilliant Dabba (or The Lunchbox, as it's so widely known internationally now) arrived in Finnish cinemas a little over a month ago. I always wanted to see it, and I don't even feel like the film suffered from praise overload. It is a darling film, full of little flavors and notes to pick up on, well-directed and written, and with captivating performances and gentle comedic touches. It's got Irrfan Khan, ambassador of Indian acting to the western world, and Nawazuddin Siddiqui, the new can-do-no-wrong actor, and Nimrat Kaur, a shockingly fantastic newer find.

It's hard to disagree that this should've been India's Oscar hopeful, as even if you find the film bland and overrated, its gentle love story, culture-specific setting (the dabbawallahs' uncharacteristic mistake setting the scene for the exchange of letters), its feel-good vibes and lack of songs included, would have made it the perfect film for that particular audience. Even a month after its initial release, the screening on an early evening was weirdly full - this film is catching considerable word of mouth even in my northern corner of the globe, and I have no doubt Oscar buzz would've helped this along further. But just as well, and I'm happy it's getting such wide international recognition, even without being pitched to the Academy.


So it's a good film, and a joy to sit through, but what I found most important about the film was that it really made me reflect on life. As most good love stories, the one in Dabba is ultimately about something greater than the connection between two people. Saajan (Irrfan) and Ila (Nimrat Kaur) are tiptoeing into a connection with their exchanged messages, and as with any two unhappy people who connect over their unhappiness, their exchanges soon become about their lives itself - what they want, what they don't want, and what they can expect from the future. It's only natural that the viewer also finds themselves asking similar questions - especially if they're relatively young, or with their life in flux, or going through a rough time, or even if they're older, like Saajan, and looking back on their past experiences.

I found myself wondering all of these things, and then arguing with myself - maybe these questions aren't really as tough as one might, in their bourgeois angst, think. After all, endless pondering about life and ourselves, our direction or our happiness, can put a person in a state of utter confusion, that can be only medicated by being marketed self-help in form of books and life style magazines and co-opted philosophies. The Lunchbox seems to also posit that this self-reflection can be rather middle class. Do the dabbawallahs themselves ponder these things? Maybe, but maybe they move on quicker than some of us. There is, in essence, much common sense in the character of Shaikh (Siddiqui), whose description of an ordinary day, full of work but also of little joys, really hit home for me. In a complicated world, simplicity can be the greatest treasure of all, even as I roll my eyes at what a cliché that sounds like. Pessimism remains my affliction.

Such is the beauty of cinema, and of all stories, really. They inspire us to see beyond what is just on the page, and consider ourselves in reflection to the characters. It's not that a film has to be deep to inspire such thoughts, it merely has to be compelling and believable as a story. And while I can't say The Lunchbox became an instant all-time favourite, I appreciate it because it certainly inspired me in many ways, and that's so much more than most films manage to do.

Highway, and a journey home.

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Sometimes being out of the loop, not following every promo and trailer, can be so beneficial for a film aficionado. I didn't expect Imtiaz Ali's Highway to be much more than maybe a strange, Stockholm syndrome inspired kidnapper-kidnappee romance. The pairing of Alia Bhatt and Randeep Hooda seemed strange, and considering her last performance that I saw was the wooden, unbearable turn in Student of the Year, I wasn't precisely hopeful that she actually had considerable acting chops. While every shitty Bhatt movie in Randeep Hooda's oeuvre is warmly embraced by such fans as myself, it's safe to say he's not universally appreciated. Imtiaz Ali is not infallible, either, and it's been in the past few years that his films and scripts have been particularly critisised for the way they portray female protagonists.

Yet, Highway manages to be a very human picture that gives its downtrodden heroine a lot of agency in a difficult situation, and thus allows Alia Bhatt to show what she can do, when acting outside Karan Johar's vapid female stereotypes. Aided by Ali's best script in a long while, this ends up being less of a kidnapping romance and more a film about two damaged people, trying to re-discover what their home in the world might be. It is, in a world, beautiful.



The story reveals all this in a very gradual way, and is all the better for it. Due to that, however, I'm forced to discuss some spoilers, so before the jump, I'll just say this: I loved this movie. It's maybe my favourite Imtiaz Ali picture right after Jab We Met, even if the two deal in two very different genres, obviously. I'll probably have to rewatch it to see how I properly rate it among my favourites, but thus far, it's stayed with me, it certainly impressed me, and I can't think of too many bad things to say about. I'd certainly recommend it.

Spoilers after cut.




The central conceit of Highway is that its two main protagonists are not as different as it may first seem - the rich Veera (Alia Bhatt) and the poor criminal Mahabir (Randeep Hooda). Slowly it is revealed that both are haunted by significant events in their childhood, abuse and neglect. As such, I didn't even see theirs as a very romantic or sexual connection - it's more shaped by their need to relate to each other, and the more they understand the similarities between their pasts, the deeper that connection becomes. It's this relationship that really grounds the film, and makes it intriguing, and I was surprised by the ease with which both actors portrayed this. There's just the right amount of forwardness in Veera, who's suddenly freed by the social bounds and norms of her oppressive family, and there's enough hesitation in Mahabir, who has never previously talked about any of this to a veritable stranger.

There is a significant feminist discussion to be had about "rape as character development", where the female character's suffering becomes the source of her strength, but the trope naturally means she has to suffer before she can gain that strength. This isn't necessarily the case here. As much as one might desire another rape revenge trope, especially as the scene where Veera reveals being raped multiple times by her uncle is so emotionally brutal, that's not where the film goes. Instead, this abuse informs her view on her family - caring so much about being proper that they look away from the abuse, thus making her home the least safe and comfortable place for Veera. I can understand female viewers who are wary and weary of seeing rape portrayed at all in films, in any shape, but it's noteworthy here, simply because of the way the focus is always on Veera, her experiences, and also because the abuse happened inside a home, by close relatives, as it so often does. In my22 Female Kottayam review, I talked about rape myths, and this film doesn't really perpetuate any of them that I noticed. Yes, there are scary, rapey strangers in the world - the character of Gaurav being one of them - but sexual abuse can happen inside the home as well.

It's also interesting that the damage suffered by Mahabir is related to the less-than-human status of women in the family, as well. Never let it be said that abuse and oppression of women doesn't hurt men - indeed, it hurts society as a whole.

I wouldn't so far as saying Ali's portrayal is the most sensitive I've ever seen, but it avoids some of the usual problems of male writers writing raped and sexually abused female protagonists. It's not just a trope used to later lazily make the female protagonist appear strong - you can see Veera is irrevocably altered by the experience, and there's no bouncing back from it to act out a revenge or an empowerment fantasy, but she's also not damaged in a way that wouldn't allow her to never truly be happy. You could call it a stretch that alone with a dangerous stranger is where she feels safer than her cushy upper class home, but considering the circumstances, Highway begins to carve out an interesting argument about what 'home' really is. It's not putting up appearances, or pretending to be happy or comfortable. It's a place where you truly do feel happy, safe and comfortable. And most importantly, perhaps, it's a place you can form on your own, on your own terms.

The soundtrack comfortably accompanies the film, and the cinematography is incredibly lush, highlighting the strange beauty of dusty Indian country roads, and the mountainous beauty of northern India. Smartly the film sheds extraneous characters, the further the two main protagonists continue their journey and become closer. I'm not sure I loved the ending, but I do appreciate how it further highlighted this being Veera's story, first and foremost. I do feel like I may be over-rating this film a bit, as it surprised me so positively, especially Alia Bhatt's occasionally gut-wrenchingly good performance (seriously, who knew?) and Randeep doing his usual, reliably solid thing, and being particularly effective in some scenes, and the chemistry between them. I'll have to rewatch this, for sure, but for now, I'm just in love with it. 

Filmi year 2013 - better late than never, I guess?

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2013 was kind of a very strange year for me, in terms of following Indian cinema. I started the year in a frenzy, watching and enjoying a lot of films, then the interest fizzling, but keeping up with films somewhat, and managing to catch a fair few films at a festival in early autumn. Most of the year was spent planning for the eventual epic India trip, that would commence in December and go through to mid-January, when I would finally return home, happy and sated, with tons of movies with me. 

There are notable exceptions to the 2013 films I saw - I couldn't find the time, effort or interest to catch Chennai Express, the big SRK blockbuster. I saw bits of it on TV in India, but Indian TV drove me up the walls with the commercial breaks, so I just couldn't focus on it. I think I saw most films, though, most films that I intended to see, anyway. 

So, here's my takeaway from last year.


Why The Hell Did I Do This To Myself Film of the Year: Race 2

We all have regrets, and I'm surprised watching Race 2 wasn't followed by a year-long chronic hangover in which everything and anything would be a plot twist and nothing would make any goddamn sense. But thankfully, the end result of watching Race 2 is merely that you've wasted your time watching Race 2. If your life is irrevocably ruined afterwards, that's on you. 

Disappointment of the Year: Go Goa Gone

Gosh, oh gosh. I so wanted to like you, movie. Why didn't you let me

I'm A Special Snowflake For Getting to See This Gem of the Year:Monsoon Shootout

It's an interesting little indie flavored flick, it's got Nawazuddin Siddiqui (ie perfection), it's just a really intriguing watch and I want everybody to see and I hate festival slow-burn releases, except when I don't, because I got to see this ahead of most other people. But when it hits theaters, do check it out, I implore you. 

Best Used Formula of the Year: AnyBody Can Dance

All the delightful underdog team tropes are in use here, and it just works so well. This was my delight of the year, and I can't wait to rewatch it once more.


The Most Puzzling Film of the Year: Matru Ki Bijlee Ka Mandola 

I loved it. It was weird. It was gorgeous. It was ..pink water buffaloes? I don't know what to make of this movie, but I do know I own the damn thing on DVD, so I suppose I'll have to give it another look. There was so much good, and such good satire amidst all the strangeness, but I don't know if Matru is, at the end of the day, just an okay oddball movie, or a splendid underappreciated masterpiece.

The Biggest Causes of Worry: the various struggles of the young generation

I'm talking questionable movie picks (I know they can't all be winners but I'd want to see Parineeti Chopra in something good, and Shuddh Desi Romance was not it), weird appearance changes (Anushka Sharma's face) and careers generally headed towards the toilet (Abhay Deol, Imran Khan). I like some of these people. I may not love all of them, but I do wish them all the best, and it saddens me to see these young stars take significant missteps. Don't Saif Ali Khan your career, guys, let's pull it together.

A Thing That Happened That I Didn't Think I Could Type In 2014: Karan Johar directed a kiss scene between two men

No, seriously, I did not think that would happen. As for the short film itself, well, I like Karan Johar sometimes, flaws and all. And believe me, there were flaws. (I also need to rewatch Bombay Talkies, I don't believe I ever reviewed it in full.)

The Top Five Most Epic Film Experiences I Had in India (because I must gloat)
  1. DDLJ at Maratha Mandir. Enough said.
  2. Sholay 3D in Juhu, amongst people who loved it and who could quote it by heart. I am the luckiest son of a gun.
  3. Dhoom 3. Because Dhoom 3. And also, Dhoom 3, which stars Aamir Khan and Aamir Khan, and I am happy that was a thing that was. 
  4. The Tamil film Kumki, viewed at night, in a village setting. Magical.
  5. Dancing so enthusiastically to Badtameez Dil from Yeh Jawaani Hai Dewaani at a Chennai New Year's Eve event that some random folks came to tell me I rock out harder to Bollywood music than most Indians. I was flattered, but it was only because I never get to dance to Bollywood music outside my bedroom that I was so into it. That, and...


My Film of the Year: Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani

Because as much as I appreciated other films last year, YJHD was the only one that hit home on all fronts - it was funny, charming, had a cute romance, a rocking soundtrack, a beautiful depiction of female friendship and inspired me to think about some of my choices in life. For a guy I am not a fan of, Ranbir Kapoor keeps performing in a manner that is hard not to like, and Deepika Padukone continues to impress. It's a movie I saw, and then went back to, and have gone back to twice or three times after first seeing it. I love it. I just love it. 

Hasee Toh Phasee: overcomplicating a good thing.

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My first reaction to Parineeti Chopra's character in Hasee Toh Phasee was enthusiastic - to use the cliche, it was something new, something different, and something that would allow her to further stretch her already great acting abilities. But then, the more I thought about, and considered the movie itself, the more this enthusiasm turned into a pensive frown. Here's the thing: what would this film be, if we placed a moratorium, a blanket ban on quirky mentally ill characters, quirky mentally ill super-genius characters, and most of all, slightly gimmicky performances surrounding them?

A lot of films, both Hollywood, Bollywood and elsewhere in the world, would be robbed of their central conceit. Hell, gimmicks are a significant part of Indian films, and you wouldn't get me to agree to this ban if it meant no Dhoom 3, or no Anniyan, or no Paa in the world, I just wouldn't allow it. And yet, when it comes to Hasee Toh Phasee, a movie that attempts at a frothy but heartfelt romantic comedy, I wonder if such a ban might be wise in the first place.

The story is simple: Nikhil (Sidharth Malhotra) is about to marry Karishma, despite all signs pointing to this being a bad idea. He discovers that a girl he met and bonded with shortly before meeting Karishma, Meeta (Parineeti Chopra), is in fact Karishma's sister, disowned by the family for various reasons. Now Meeta is back for the wedding, and Karishma asks Nikhil to make sure she's not seen by her side of the family, and thus wacky hijinks and an eventual budding romance ensue.

There's a lot to unpack when it comes to Meeta's character, her mysterious past, her strange mannerisms, her super-genius rattling off of factoids in fast English and her pill-popping antics. At first I was merely intrigued, but the further along the film went, the more I wondered whether less would be more when it came to this character. I'm sure, as ever, everything to do with her was properly and meticulously researched (isn't it always?), but something about this hodgepodge of symptoms and quirks, no matter how medically accurate, was kind of a mess.

It doesn't particularly help that the movie relies on this character to really work, so when Parineeti Chopra's natural charm doesn't quite manage to come through in this performance, I wasn't quite as engaged with the movie as I was hoping to be. The second lead, Sidharth Malhotra, does okay, but he's no acting or charisma powerhouse at this point in his career, and so the resulting romance doesn't quite feel as touching as it might with a better cast or a less messy script.

However, if it works for you, it works, and this becomes a passable cutesy romcom with heart at the core of it. Some of the songs are great, while others are cringeworthy. I still wish, being a fan of Parineeti's, that they would've scaled back on the character a bit: while I appreciate the something new in the character, especially as female protagonists can be occasionally bland in terms of characterisation, there may have been some pieces missing, both in the scripting of the character and the performance. 

Soodhu Kavvum - just watch it. Watch it now.

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We can only make farcical cinema, as far as politics is considered because politics is farce in our country. Either we can make farce or we can make (it) very dark because there is no middle road.  - Vishal Bhardwaj, TBIP interview
Dark comedies as a genre rely on the audience's ability to laugh at the very things in society that shouldn't make us laugh in the first place, be it death or the immorality of man, or the failure of societal institutions to do what they're supposed to. At times, the label seems to get applied to films that aren't quite as funny as they're perhaps meant to be, but where they fail in comedy, they succeed in some semblance of social commentary, and so the label "dark comedy" gets stamped on them, almost as a cop-out. At its best, though, the genre is genuinely funny, and the comedy emerges from the commentary itself.

Soodhu Kavvum ("Evil engulfs", though according to my DVD, "deceit is addictive") is such a film, a 2013 Tamil comedy that is as side-splittingly funny as it is perceptive about society and morals in society. The film came with high recommendations, but I luckily hadn't heard much about the plot itself, so I could discover every aspect of the movie at its own pace. And it is so good.


The story follows three young losers (Ashok Selvan, Bobby Simha and Ramesh Thilak, pictured above) who live and fail to work in Chennai, until the day they accidentally come upon Das (Vijay Sethupathi), a middle-aged guy with a flourishing career in mid-level kidnapping and extortion and an imaginary girlfriend named Shalu (Sanchita Shetty), who only he himself can see or hear. Two and eventually all three of the guys join this budding entrepreneurial venture, and things are going well, until they decide to chase a bigger payday by kidnapping the wastrel son (Karunakaran) of a morally upright minister.

The script is amazingly funny, and the type of comedy that magically carries over to the decent English subtitle translations in a way that made me laugh out loud constantly. There is an interesting central idea to the film that makes everything fall together in a splendid way - everybody in this film is a crook, apart from the villain, and it is weirdly liberating to laugh at the weird ways in which the world favours the morally loose, corrupt or just plain lazy. The first scene in which we meet Arumai, the minister's son, is one such scene. This guy is an absolute waste of space, so naturally, in this world, he triumphs.


I mean, just look at him. Ugh, go away. (Seriously, though, great performance by Karunakaran.)

Shalu, the sole female character, is of course imaginary, in an (I hope) intentional bit of meta-commentary for Tamil films, where women tend to be eye candy, rather than important characters. Das doesn't treat her particularly well, and while I could find this disturbing in a misogynist manner (you imagined yourself a girlfriend you don't even like? what?), I mostly just find it incredibly hilarious. And the chemistry between them is about what you could hope for, between a weird, semi-drunkard man and his imaginary girlfriend.

"Can we keep him?" she asks, about the child they've just kidnapped. I'm weak with laughter, I love it.

The kidnapping scenes each have so much potential to be genuinely dark and unfunny, and yet they all turn out so comical that they're a delight. Das' rules for humanitarian kidnappings, not extorting big sums but just enough that the one being extorted can afford to pay rent next month, lends the whole thing such an oddball comedic vibe, that it's hard to find them off-putting.

The film was also a constant source of discoveries when it came to the cast, as well. Bobby Simha, who I may have seen before, was incredibly effective, particularly in a scene where he is being appraised as a future film hero by a rowdy who's turned to movie making.

Witness, the next Suriya.

Then there's Vijay Sethupathi, who plays Das.

Guh.


I mean, uhh, he's okay I guess.

That aside, it's just really great to see a Tamil movie that gets it right in every way. It's been a while since that has happened, and as I don't get to see all that many Tamil films, due to scarce availability and lack of subtitles on a lot of DVDs, it's always a joy to find a great film I immediately fall in love with, that introduces me to a whole bunch of new talent, that has a joyous soundtrack, and a fantastic script that is definitely rooted in Indian/Tamil society but also translates to a foreigner such as myself in an effortless manner. Props to the subtitle staff at AP/Ayngaran Anak, who produced the DVD.


And if this sounded at all like your thing, the dark comedy, the farce and the morally ambiguous protagonists, the imaginary heroine and all the rest of it, do give it a go. I mean the film, not kidnapping.


Sorry, "kednaping", of course. 

Naduvula Konjam Pakkatha Kaanom - wait, what happened?

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Bugs, Saras and Bhaji have a problem - their friend, Prem, fell over while playing cricket the day before his wedding, and as result of a concussion, now fails to recall events that happened up to a year ago. Since Prem shows no signs of having a miraculous recovery, the three friends are forced to keep up the charade throughout his wedding day, making sure the marriage goes through, even when Prem fails to recall his bride, much less what happened six minutes ago.

I have to confess I was more charmed by Naduvula Konjam Pakkatha Kaanom (A few pages missing in between, 2012) than I actually enjoyed the experience of watching it. The low-fi aesthetic demonstrates the smaller budget, and in some ways it's very clear that this is the first directorial venture of Balaji Tharaneetharan, who found his story from actual events that happened to his friend (the film's cinematographer, C. Prem Kumar). This is, in many ways, the little film that could, and I really like that about it - a small budget venture that became a cult classic.

With that said, I'm not sure most of the comedy carried over through the translation process. The conceit of the film is to be repetitive - Prem repeats certain things as he instantly forgets what he said, or what has been told to him, and it can be hard to make the same lines gain meaning or comedy through repetition. At times, there's a scene where they succeed in this, and the situational comedy is fantastic because of it - mostly on the latter half of the film. But for the most part, the repetitiveness of both the dialogue and the reaction shots can get a bit dull, and I wonder whether this is where being a native Tamil speaker would've helped. The only subtitles I could find, in a perfect demonstration of how unavailable Tamil films can be to outsiders, were fan-made, but as such, they weren't exactly flawless.

I'm forced to give this a very lukewarm recommendation. I didn't dislike it, but I fear the praise I'd read for it online was so high, it failed to meet it. Still, I'm very happy that alongside bombastic big budget films, Tamil cinema can also produce these smaller, indie gems. 

Queen.

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If there's a fast-emerging genre of films of Indian women re-gaining their self-esteem by embracing life and themselves while traveling abroad, it's a development I can't really dislike. English Vinglish was charming, and its vibrant little sister in spirit, Queen is another fantastically enjoyable film. In essence there is nothing new about travel films with empowerment messages of this kind, but sometimes a formula works not due to its presence, but its grounded, passionate application. This is a film where you love a character so much, you're entirely with her on this ride, busy making discoveries alongside her.

Rani (Kangna Raut), a sweet Delhi girl, gets dumped by her fiance Vijay (Rajkummar Rao) a day before her wedding. After wallowing in the situation, Rani decides to go on their honeymoon alone despite everything - to take a trip to Paris and Amsterdam alone. At first, she's understandably alienated in the foreign city, but soon befriends Vijaylaxmi (Lisa Haydon), a vivacious, party-hard somewhat-single mother. Encouraged by the new friendship, Rani continues her journey in Amsterdam. (And as I loved this film so much, the review will contain spoilers. Watch it, come back to this review. I wouldn't want to ruin anything for you.)


Kangna Raut, who's previously done good work in not-so-great films, really shines as Rani. The character is quite odd, but in a perfectly every-day manner. Her "very good" sense of humor finds a new audience in her foreign friends, even though they don't quite seem to understand it, either. They still like Rani, however, just as I as the viewer like her. From the first scene, when we hear her excited but fretting inner monologue during the beginning of the wedding celebrations, she becomes somebody to truly root for.

The portrayal of Rani's new-found international friends is very perceptive, as it captures the way that lack of a full fluency in a common language doesn't necessarily stop two human beings from fully bonding with one another. You can make real friends while traveling, even if they will be different from the ones you have back at home, but the film captures this, too. You get a sense that these people will meet again, after years, and catch up and get along just the same as they did when travelling together - much like I've done with friends I've met during travel.

I feel like I could possibly have some quibbles about this film, but there's a part of me that knows the world it inhabits so well, the freedom of travel and the enjoyment of embracing new parts of yourself while abroad, that it becomes difficult to really argue for those minor criticisms. Lisa Haydon's character, for example, certainly contains archetypes, but because the archetypes are multiple - the booze-drinking, smoking, sexually active Western woman, the mixed ethnicity bombshell, yes, but also working mother, caring friend, cheesy joke maker - the combination becomes refreshing.

The success in writing and casting Rani's other new friends is also worth noting. They're not characters with incredible depth, but as they play second-fiddle to Rani's self-discovery, we also learn about their own journeys and struggles and inner worlds. You get a sense that they don't just exist in the world or in this particular story for her benefit. This allows the friendships to feel real, not just between them and Rani, but between the group of the three guys on their own. It's also a sigh of relief - maybe, just maybe, the days of cringe-worthy international casting in Indian films are beginning to end.


As so often happens with these "Indian abroad" films, the homeland is never too far away. Vijay, the asshole former fiance, suddenly decides he likes this Rani abroad and pursues her, just as the audience decides we really don't like him. The flashback scenes are great in demonstrating how we are sometimes held back by those claiming to do it for our own benefit, and because they care for us, love us even. Rani insults an Italian chef by requesting more spice into her dish, and there is the obligatory "Indian cooking wins over white people" scene. Even the sex worker Roxette turns out to be just a hard-working Indian girl, providing for her large family.

The film is particularly of interest to me, because I'm about to visit Amsterdam, mostly to hang out and enjoy the great city, but also to meet up with friends who I haven't seen in a long while. Besides those personal reasons, there are a number of other things I should probably mention. The soundtrack fits the film like a glove, and adds to it, particularly in the first scenes where Rani crashes out of her element by drinking and partying with Vijaylaxmi. The direction is tight, and even though the cinematography revels in the beauty of Paris and Amsterdam as cities, the focus never stops being about Rani, and the people she meets during her travels. A city, after all, is just a city. The memories you make in it, the people you travel with, those will stick with you. Queen is an undeniable gem, and particularly great for Kangna Raut, who I think has always landed in films where her effort has risen above the actual script. This will hopefully not only inspire more film makers to write roles as meaty as Rani's here, but also consider Kangna in various, great projects.

Gaddaar - if you find it, grab it.

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Around two years ago, me and Beth compared our Vinod Khanna notes, and she recommended some films I hadn't yet seen while I recommended some films of his that she hadn't got to yet. In that conversation, Beth recommended the film Gaddaar from 1973 (here is her write-up of it), and has been on my "to see" list ever since. However, in typical Vinod Khanna bad luck, one of his better 70's films seemed to be universally, perpetually unavailable, and underappreciated. I did my regular searches on the online stores and youtubes of the world wide web, and always, always came up empty. In India, I scrutinized every G-section of a DVD shop. Nothing. Ever.

It's not like being a Vinod Khanna fan is easy without the hunt for underappreciated gem films of his being this arduous. The man only had about a decade of solid stardom before he regrettably retrieved from the material world, only to return when Hindi cinema was at its creatively crappiest. If you have nostalgia for the action flicks of the late 80's and early 90's, and dig that particular Vinod Khanna, more power to you, but I personally can't pretend that those performances have even a quarter of the charm his 70's filmography does. It's tired plots and tired performances, and thus my first question when hearing about a Vinod Khanna film isn't "is it good?" but rather, "when was it released?". So hearing about Gaddaar, an early 70's film, and seeing the screen caps and the high recommendations, I had to have it, and it killed me that it was nowhere to be found, despite my best efforts.

Eventually, though, I found Gaddaar (with a little, okay, a lot of help from Carla), or it found me - and I honestly couldn't be happier about the fact.


The film begins with BK (Pran) assembling his team of crooks for a grand heist (including Iftekhar, Ranjeet, Manmohan and Madan Puri). The heist goes well with only the minor hitch of BK being shot, leading him to give the loot of Kanhaya (Madan Puri), and agreeing to meet him later, along with the rest of the gang. As luck would have it, however, Kanhaya betrays the group and is nowhere to be found. Enter a small-time crook Raja (Vinod Khanna), who blackmails his way into the group, and they set off to search for Kanhaya.

The real triumph of the story is that as the search winds down, Gaddaar becomes less of a crime film and more a drama thriller between the the thieves, and the bystanders who are forced to get involved. It gives these character actors more to do than they otherwise get to in your average masala flick, where the focus is so much on the hero, and crooks are usually merely just that. Here, their relations with one another form the backbone of the film, and make for a gripping watch, particularly as the latter half of the film is spent in one particular setting.


It's just good fun, aided by solid writing and fantastic acting. The frustration that builds up between our central antagonists in the isolated Himachal Pradesh cabin flares up every now and then, and it is these moments that allow the drama to escalate further and further. It's cabin fever, further exaggerated by the desperate circumstances.

And then there's Vinod.

Raja is the type of character Vinod Khanna seemed to play a lot of in the 1970's. He's a rogue, sure, but he's charming, and even when he has his particularly cruel moments, he seems to have a beating heart and a humane side, too. Sometimes there's a twist in store, sometimes there isn't. Yet the character works, particularly in this setting, because he's surrounded by other crooks of varying shades - some noble, some horrible, some cruel, some cowardly.


Also: he's got swag up to his shiny, perfect hair-do. Pure swag.


It always bugs me to recommend a film I know you'll probably have at least half the trouble finding as I did, but regardless, that I must do. It's a great film to check out if you're not quite with the over-the-top traits of a typical 1970's masala, but still would like to see the style and some of the actors (because let's face it, 70's Pran, 70's Iftekhar and Ranjeet in general are all joys to witness). It's a nice change of pace in many ways, and without a doubt one of the most underrated Hindi films of the 1970's.

I wonder if Sriram Raghavan was inspired by this film to formulate his Johnny Gaddaar (2007) around a similar (if very differently actualised) plot devise. It's a more available film that is also relatively underrated, in part because Neil Nitin Mukesh's career never took off. There are some good performances in it  - Dharmendra, Zakir Hussain and Vinay Pathak all stood out to me - and while I should probably give it a rewatch before singing its praises so loudly, I would be willing to bet it references this film in one way or another. It's another film where you know who betrayed who, but the dramatic tension in Johnny Gaddaar comes from the rest of the gang slowly putting the pieces of the puzzle together.
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